Hope is not lost
by Mystic Grimoire
Summary: Alfred found himself one night at a pub after an exhausting day at work. But after a quarrel a few drunk men had, and a musical performance made by a group of punks, Alfred starts to remember someone he once cherished and lost... Will Alfred remember who this person was?. Will he ever see the punk again? Read to find out ;3


**Hello I'm Mystic Grimoire and****this is the first fanfiction I have ever written, so please be gentle with me.**

**Any review that might help me improve my writing style is very much appreciated. ^-^**

**I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters from the series neither do I own the song mentioned in this story, the band XTC made the song "Dear God".**

Alfred F. Jones, a blond american man with blue eyes as clear as the cloudless sky, walked down the empty streets of London late at night, pulling his tie loose with a tired sigh as he rounded a corner to get to the closest pub he could find, he needed something to get keep himself from thinking of all his problems.

Once he entered he went directly to the bar and took a seat on a bar stool a few seats away from a group of punks, but only one of them caught his attention in peculiar, he had messy, short blond hair, eyes color green, almost emerald and fair skin, he was rather attractive, it was a shame that his eyebrows looked like two caterpillars had climbed his forehead, Alfred stopped his inspection on said blonde and asked for a bourbon as he made himself as comfortable as he could on the bar stool.

As soon as he got his drink he heard a commotion on one of the tables closest to the stage, which was at the end of the pub.

It seemed like a bunch of drunken men were debating about whether the economy was worse in the past or the present, saying that god was punishing them unfairly, that they deserved better, Alfred deemed it unimportant and so he decided to ignore them as he drank some of his bourbon, but his attention got attracted to the stage as the small fight took a turn for the worse as a few more drunk men started raising their voices getting into the debate. Soon the little debate turned into a full-blown fight between a bunch of drunk men going on about how the other was wrong, and soon they started discussing about religion and some of them about how they had it worse than the man who spoke before, some of them going as far as even getting angry and throwing punches at each other.

Alfred noted with some amusement that the only ones who weren't taking part on the fight where the people who were sitting on the bar, either ignoring the men fighting or not caring at all, and so, he turned back to his drink.

But soon most of the voices stopped as almost everyone's attention was brought to the stage by the light strumming of a guitar. There on the stage, stood the emerald eyed punk Alfred had noticed when he sat on the bar stool, a guitar in his hands, and sang gently.

_"Dear God,_

_Hope you got the letter and_

_I pray you can make it better down here._

_I don't mean a big reduction in the price of beer;_

_But all the people that you made in your image,_

_See them starving on their feet,_

_'Cause they don't get enough to eat_

Another guy with shaggy strawberry blonde hair, red eyes and pale skin joined the emerald eyed punk, using an electric guitar, but the Brit (as Alfred came to realise that the punk was British) didn't pay any attention to the other, and he kept singing.

_From God..._

_I can't believe in you..."_

Soon the remaining voices all stopped as a guy with short, wild blond hair and drooping blue eyes joined the other two, using the drums that were already at the stage.

But Alfred wasn't paying attention to that, no, his attention was set on the green haired punk, he sounded bitter... No, not bitter, but sad. This realisation made the American blink and watch the man a little more carefully, taking in his expression; seemingly relaxed, half-lidded eyes, a sad look in those green orbs... A very faint smirk on his lips as he continued, now with a little stronger voice.

_"Dear God,_

_Sorry to disturb you, but_

_I feel that I should be heard loud and clear._

_We all need a big reduction in the amount of tears,_

_And all the people that you made in your image,_

_See them fighting in the street_

_'Cause they can't make opinions meet_

_About God._

_I can't believe in you."_

The eyes closed completely, the tunes from the guitars seemed a bit louder and the red-eyed strawberry blonde joined in singing.

_"Did you make disease, and the diamond blue?_

_Did you make mankind after we made you?_

_And the devil too?"_

The Englishman opened his eyes with a fierce glare, and hardening his smirk he sang the last part. And soon two other guys stood on the stage, both joining in with violins, one of them had platinum blonde hair, red eyes and pale skin, while the other had brown hair, hazel eyes and had an olive complexion.

The punk stopped singing for a moment, only the guitars, violins and drums sounding for a few seconds; it was somehow a comforting sound, but soon the Englishman's voice found its strength and joined the music again.

_"Dear God,_

_Don't know if you noticed, but..._

_Your name is on a lot of quotes in this book._

_Us crazy humans wrote it, you should take a look!_

_And all the people that you made in your image,_

_Still believing that junk is true;_

_Well, I know it ain't, and so do you!_

_All the other instruments stopped for an instant, only leaving the sound of the acoustic guitar._

_Dear God..."_

The sadness worked its way into the man's voice again, suddenly making it sound incredibly fragile. The punk's eyes opened again, at first with a look of helplessness and disbelief clearly written in them.

_"I can't believe in..._

_I don't believe in..."_

His voice and expression hardened, something akin to anger in his eyes as he practically began to shout out the words, the drums sounding in unison to his strumming.

_"I won't believe in Heaven and Hell,_

_No saints, no sinners, no Devil as well!_

_No pearly gates, no thorny crown!_

_You're always letting us humans down!_

_The wars you bring, the babes you drown,_

_Those lost at sea and never found!"_

Alfred swallowed and stared; he had never seen anything like this before. All bitterness worked its way into the Briton's voice, and the words stung Alfred's heart even though they were not directed at him. Soon the other instruments started joining in again.

_"And it's the same the whole world 'round!_

_The hurt I see helps to compound_

_That Father, Son and Holy Ghost_

_Is just somebody's unholy hoax!_

_And if you're up there, you'd perceive_

_That my heart's here upon my sleeve!_

_If there's one thing I don't believe in...!"_

All the punks stopped short for a moment, as the Briton took in air, and with a saddened expression, he sang the last words with an eerily quiet voice as the only sound that accompanied his voice was the sound of his guitar.

_"It's you..._

_Dear God."_

As soon as they stopped playing, the punks stared at all the drunk men with disappointment in their eyes, and as Alfred's and the briton's eyes met they just maintained eye contact, Alfred felt like he was in some sort of haze as he stared into those deep emerald eyes, that seemed like a deep forest, he couldn't help but to feel that the Brit reminded him of someone he had known long ago, someone precious to him, someone he cherished and had lost long ago...

He soon snapped out of his haze as the punks started to descend from the stage, the Briton being the last one, as they passed by the bar to get out of the pub, Alfred noticed the emerald eyed punk staring at him with something akin to recognition held inside his eyes.

A few seconds after the punks exited the pub everyone continued doing what they were doing before the intervention, except the ones involved in the quarreling, who started to put all the tables and chairs in order, but Alfred could notice that everyone seemed ashamed of themselves, Alfred not being an exception.

Alfred soon went back to try to do what he came here to do, but he found himself no longer in the mood to get himself wasted, so he drank his bourbon and paid for it, getting out of the pub, going back to the dark streets of London to head back to his apartment, with the events of the night fresh in his mind, trying to remember that someone he cherished so much, that he lost long ago...

**A/N: Well, that's all I have for you for now...**

**Please, tell me what you think about it, if I should continue or give it to my cat for diner. :P**

**Thank you for reading, please review, your opinion is very important to me. :3**


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